


Where I Want To Go

by jamesbonds



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins, Platonic Bonds, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:18:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8093128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbonds/pseuds/jamesbonds
Summary: "Oh.The rest of his shield comes crashing down and Carl feels like a wave is breaking over him, slamming him into the rocks. He feels breathless and overwhelmed, like some other force out of his control is propelling him, like he’s not sure which direction is which. “OH.” says a voice in the back of his head in response. Carl can’t stop staring at Phil, eyes wide and jaw hanging open a bit." Carl gets traded once, twice, waits for a third time that doesn’t come. Instead he finds something else entirely.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistress_shiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistress_shiny/gifts).



> I sincerely hope you enjoy this fic. It started as a short story about two players finding a new home in each other and expanded to… this. They do very much fall in love, but there ended up being a few bumps on the road there. Carl had some things to figure out. 
> 
> This follows the 2015-16 Penguins season fairly closely. There are a couple liberties taken towards the end for obvious plot reasons, but there were also many game recaps watched in the making of this. 
> 
> Massive, massive thank you to Lizzey and Jarka for being amazing betas and to Nicole, Hannah and Christina for the cheerleading and handholding through me freaking out about writing fic for the first time ever! (Also, thank you to Lizzey for dragging me into loving the Pens in the first place.) 
> 
> Title from the Roo Panes song of the same name.

The day Carl finds out he’s going to have to break his linebond with Mats and Derick is definitely in the top five worst of his life.

Every player in the NHL knows it’s a possibility. The hope is that a bond will help a line improve, produce more, really click _._ When that happens, it’s rare that a player will get traded, and obviously more often than not things on a line stay about the same. Breaking a bond is always swept over by the NHL a bit. It doesn’t happen much in other sports, but the NHL has always been a firm believer in players cutting ties with old teams.

It’s mentioned during bond seminars, but no one gets full details until it’s about to happen. It’s why all NHL players need to know how to shield, and why they’re encouraged to practice even if they’re not bonded. Shielding is integral to bond health and stability they say, but there’s always been a sinking feeling in Carl’s gut, one that knows it’s also integral to breaking a bond.  

Carl finds out he’s been traded in the middle of the summer, much too far away to feel Mats or Derick through the bond. He reaches for it anyway but can’t even feel the shape of it, instead just a wave of nausea from reaching too hard. There’s been too much distance and time since it was used, and even though Carl knows it’s normal not to be able to sense the space of it, at the moment it just makes him feel a little sick. 

If he were going back to New York for the season it’d snap back once they were on the ice together, just another part of the ritual that’s the first practice of the season. As it is though, he’s stuck sitting in his bedroom in Sweden attempting to take deep breaths and not freak out.

 

\\\

 

Anaheim is too hot when he gets there.

He’d stopped in New York for a couple days, mostly to meet with Mats and Derick and the Rangers Bond Specialist. _Even if the Rangers don’t give a shit about me anymore_ , Carl thinks bitterly, _they still have to make sure Mats and Derick are producing. That there’s no unbalanced link between them._

From there it’d been a six hour flight to get to California and now another two hour car ride to the hotel the Ducks had booked for him until he figures out what he wants to do long term. That’s eight hours Carl’s spent trying not to notice the uncomfortable hole in the corner of his mind. He knows that if the bond was still intact he wouldn’t be able to sense it anyway. He was never able to sense Mats or Derick unless they were within shouting distance. 

It’s September and while New York was still hot and humid, the air when he steps out of LAX is oppressive. It’s scorching and thick and Carl feels like he can’t quite get a full breath into his lungs.

He feels queasy the whole ride, the AC in the car tasting a little acrid. The sun’s begun to set out the right window, and the cab driver tells him it’s been extra vivid because of the fires out to the east. Carl’s always liked LA when he’s visited before in the summer but as he rests his head on the widow he wonders if he’s been sent to some kind of hell.

He doesn’t think he’s supposed to be able to notice an absence where the bond was. It’s not something that’s in any of the pamphlets they gave him, and no one ever mentioned any after effects in any of the seminars. He doesn’t think him and Mats and Derick had any sort of abnormal bond, and it seems to have broken fine, but he can still feel the impression of where they used to be in his mind when they were out on the ice.

He spent last night in his hotel room feeling out the empty space, like running your tongue over a missing tooth. It’s not painful, he can ignore it with his shields up, but once he looks for it, it feels startlingly wrong.

Despite having practiced shielding non stop for the last few days, when he first steps out on the ice at Ducks training camp he expects to be able to feel a simultaneous rush from Mats and Derick. It still feels good, too long since his skates cut into fresh ice, but there’s something missing and it sits heavy in his stomach.

 

\\\

 

The months in Anaheim pass in a bit of a blur. It never seems to get cooler, no distinguishable change of season to let Carl know that, yes, time is in fact passing. The only trees outside his long term stay hotel are palms but he passes some on his way to practice one day that have turned orange and yellow and he wonders how they knew it was time.

They win some games and lose others and nothing’s quite making sense for Carl.

He feels off balance, both on and off the ice. The team’s nice enough and he’s always been invited out after wins and to the occasional other get together, but there’s no one he’s getting any closer with. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to fit in with the Duck’s style of play and it feels a little claustrophobic out on the ice for him sometimes. There’s no space for him to maneuver in their plays and he feels both caged in by their strategy and untethered from the rest of the room.

He still reaches for the broken bond sometimes when he’s on the ice, but instead of being met with a vacancy, he’s met with the shield he’s carefully built up over the last few months. He misses Mats and Derick fiercely but at least the shield feels solid and real, something he can tangibly feel unlike the uncertainty of the broken bond. It’s better this way, he tells himself. He doesn’t want to know if behind that shield. Whether he could still feel where Mats and Derick used to be or if it’d be like it was during the summer, healed over and unmarked.

He gets called into the front office on an off day in Mid-January.

“We haven’t told the press yet, so we didn’t want to do this over the phone,” Murray, the Duck’s GM, says not unkindly, “but we’ve gone ahead and made a trade with Pittsburgh. We’ve really appreciated your time here.”

Carl isn’t sure what to say, just thanks him, shakes hands with him and Boudreau and the other men standing there who he doesn’t recognize at all. He stands in the hallway for a minute, eyes closed and trying to breathe, before realizing that he doesn’t want to be standing there when the others start to come out of the office.

He hasn’t been blind to how he’s performed here the first half of the season. His numbers are shit and certainly can’t be what Anaheim had hoped for when they traded for him, and while he doesn’t think he’s caused any problems on the team it’s no secret that he’s not exactly best friends with any of the other players. He can’t say he’s at all surprised he’s been shuffled along.

And Pittsburgh. As a Ranger he’d certainly been conditioned to want to beat Crosby to the puck a little more, to chirp them a little harder than other teams, and he can’t deny the little illicit thrill he feels at the thought of playing there.

On top of that there’s a spark of genuine hope in his stomach. Everyone’s noticed how the Penguins have been playing recently. While their overall record is still nowhere close to stellar, Carl can’t help but feel like he might actually be able to do something there.

As he pulls his phone out of his pocket on the way out of the building he realizes he’s not even sure who he’s been traded for. Blinking up at him is a text from Patric Hornqvist from two minutes ago. All it reads is, “see you soon” with a winking emoji. One solid friend is already more than Anaheim could ever offer him.

They pick him up from the airport along with a cameraman for Pens TV and while it’s not at the top of the list of things Carl would like to be doing right after a long flight, at least he can be genuine when he tells them he’s excited about playing here, about being part of the home team in Consol.  

 

\\\

 

He meets most of the guys the next morning at practice before his first game as a Pen. Some of them have made an effort to be there early to introduce themselves before they hit the ice. Malkin in particular looks rough around the edges, but Carl supposes that if they traded Perron for him he might start out on Malkin’s line.

Crosby's hanging around the door when he first walks in, a water bottle in his hand and chatting to Phil Kessel. Carl feels a little like maybe they’ve been waiting for him but didn’t want to be too obvious about it.

“Hey!” Crosby calls out when Carl hesitates in the door frame of the players lounge for a second.

“Hey man,” Carl says, sticking out his hand without his duffle bag in it.

“It’s good to see you again,” Crosby continues, his palm warm and dry against Carl’s slightly clammy one. “We’re really excited to have you here. Let me know if you want to grab lunch after practice.”

His eyes are slightly wide and his smile seems genuine and Carl can feel the nerves in his stomach settle a little. He didn’t think it was going to go badly, but he was wary of getting his hopes up too high.

“Yeah,” says Carl, “uh, that’d be nice. Sure. I don’t really know what’s good around here yet.”

“Well, if you want something good, you shouldn’t go out to lunch with Sid,” says Kessel, standing next to him. Carl turns to look at him, a little surprised laugh escaping him.

“Hey!” says Crosby, mock offended, but the guy doesn’t turn to look at Sid, instead just sticking out his hand to Carl, so Carl doesn’t look away either.

“Phil Kessel,” he says as Carl takes his hand. Phil’s grip is firm and Carl feels a spill of warmth wash down his spine, like he just took a gulp of hot tea, but a little tingly too. He can’t help but grin at Phil.

“Carl Hagelin,” he manages to say, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Phil says, his smile settling into place, and Carl can’t help but to continue smiling in return.

It’s not like Carl didn’t know who Phil Kessel was before - he’d be a pretty poor hockey fan and even worse NHL-er if he didn’t - and as such had been aware of Phil’s trials and tribulations with the Toronto media over the years. _But_ , Carl thinks, _if Phil Kessel can look this relaxed, maybe there’s hope for me here too._  

Carl realizes he’s still grasping Phil’s hand and drops it abruptly, turning back to Sidney, who’s watching them one eyebrow slightly raised. When Carl turns however his face settles back into the same mild but friendly expression from before.   

“C’mon,” Sidney says, “I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys.”

Carl follows him over to the counter where a few younger guys Carl doesn’t totally recognize are sitting. As he goes he can’t help but glance over his shoulder back at Phil. He’s still standing in the same spot, watching Carl with a slightly stunned expression on his face. And, well, Carl would be lying if he said there wasn’t something in his chest that swooped slightly at that. He shoves it away and turns back around, hoping his grin doesn’t look too manic.

 

\\\

 

It’s obvious that Sidney cares about every member of his team and the detail in which Carl is introduced to every player and staff member is sort of touching, but it also means he’s about to be late getting on the ice. He yanks the white practice jersey over his head and grabs his stick from his stall. The equipment manager - _Dana_ , he thinks to himself - had assured him his new jersey and the rest of his gear would be ready by the game that night. Carl’s sure though, that a quick trade like this has gotta put some pressure on even the well oiled gears of the NHL machine.

Carl follows a couple other stragglers down the tunnel but pauses before he steps out onto the ice. He’s played plenty of games in Consol before, but it’s different now that it’s supposed to be his also. He looks up as he steps out and notices Horny grinning from where he’s lazily skating circles on the other side of the ice. Carl grins back.

They run through some warm ups and some seemingly randomized drills before they’re put into lines. Carl was right in thinking that he would initially be put on Malkin’s line, along with Phil. He glances over at the other two as they line up at center. Phil’s already staring down Dumoulin and Lovejoy, positioned in front of Fleury at the far edge, but Malkin’s watching Carl. He quirks his eyebrow up when he notices Carl look at him, tongue poking out of the side of his teeth in a smile. He says something in heavily accented english that Carl doesn’t quite catch, but Phil laughs, and then a puck is passed up from behind them and they’re off.

It’s not that different from any other hockey practice overall. Many of the drills are familiar and Carl’s been playing long enough to know what he’s good at, what he’s valued for. He’s got speed and he knows Geno and Phil do too, that that’s the direction the Penguins want to be moving.

He also knows to expect a bunch of questions about it when he’s given up to the media after the game that night.

He’s waiting by the boards for their next turn when Geno skates up to him and bumps him lightly.

“Look good, yes?” he asks Carl. Carl’s not sure if he means how their line performed or the other players they’re watching.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think it’s gonna be good,” and Geno grins. 

He’s a little surprised to find that he really means it. He’s always been able to breathe easier on the ice, but he actually feels good here today for the first time in a long time.

 

\\\

 

The Pens locker room is pretty chaotic before the game, but there’s a familiarity to every hockey locker room Carl’s ever been in.

He’s in the middle of pulling up his socks and reaching around for some tape when he feels someone settle into the stall next to him and bump him slightly. He looks up, a little surprised to find Phil there. Linemates usually sit together, sure, but Carl’s temporary spot isn’t near Geno or Phil.

“You ready for this?” Phil asks, as quietly as one can manage if they still want to be heard among their teammates.

“Yeah man,” he says, “I’ve done this before, it’s not a big deal.”

Phil’s brow furrows slightly and he doesn’t look entirely satisfied with Carl’s answer.

“I know it can be weird, your first game somewhere else,” Phil starts. “I just wanted to-” he huffs out a breath, “check in. Or whatever”

Carl glances back down at his skates for a moment.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve got it.” He looks up and tries a smile, “Honestly, I’m more worried about the media afterwards than the game.”

Phil grins at that. “Pittsburgh’s good,” he says “after your first couple games they go back to just wanting to talk to Sid.”

Carl’s not sure that he really does “got it,” not that he’s going to admit as such, but it turns out it really is good. Carl doesn’t manage to get any points, but the Pens are on fire, shutting out Carolina 5 - 0.

Press is a blur and Carl’s sure he sounds rehearsed. _But_ , he thinks, _that’s exactly what happens when you do rehearse_. They ask how he feels about fitting into the Penguin’s system, as if anyone could have an answer about that after one day. No points means no extra questions though, and they quickly move on to Sid. Carl can’t help a bit of a smile thinking about Phil’s comment from earlier.

Carl strips down quickly and heads to the showers. They’ve got a little time to grab a bite, and then they’re on the plane for the next game in St. Louis. Carl’s never been a huge fan of back to back games involving travel, but at the same time it’s sorta convenient to be pushed straight into the deep end.

He’s sure the Pens have their own seating rituals on flights, so he trails up along the aisle looking for an empty row where he won’t bother anyone. Before he can find one though, Horny catches his eye and nods to the empty seat beside him.

Once his bag is tucked away and he’s settled down he turns to Horny only to find him already watching Carl, slightly amused.

“How was your first day of work, sweetheart?” Horny asks in Swedish. Carl lets out a surprised laugh and elbows him in the ribs. Horny yelps and tries to shove him back into the aisle.

“It was fine,” Carl replies. “Some of the guys are kinda dicks though.” He can’t help but grin at Horny’s outraged expression.

“Hey!” says Geno from across the aisle. “No fair, have secret language buddy. Better only say nice things.”

Horny leans across Carl to reply to Geno and Carl settles back and pulls his noise cancelling headphones on.

He thinks back to the media questions and then to his first practice in Anaheim. Nothing had gone wrong, but it had still all felt a little weird and uncomfortable. He’d thought that was just the price of being the new guy, but now he’s pretty sure that wasn’t just because he’d been spit out by the Rangers. He knows all he can do for now is just to play how he always has, but he feels warm and comfortable as the plane takes off and he starts to drift to sleep.

 

\\\

 

Carl gets his first point as a Penguin the next night as an assist on a breakaway goal by Geno. It’s really all Geno putting in the work; picking up the pass, crowding out the defenseman and shoveling it over Elliot’s shoulder. Carl reaches Geno and Phil just as Letang comes wrapping around his side and they’re all grinning as Geno pats their helmets. They end up losing to the Blues, but something still settles a little warm in his chest.

Carl starts to settle into a rhythm as January plods on into February. He stays on the second line with Geno and Phil and the moments where he’s struck by the fact that he’s playing with two superstars get fewer and fewer. Their line feels solid. He’s not sure they’re linebond material, at least not yet, but Carl tries not to let himself think about any sort of bonds these days.

A little over a week after he first gets to Pittsburgh, they’re playing against New Jersey when Pouliot just kind of lobs the puck towards center ice where Carl’s waiting. He manages to get it out from under the Jersey player right behind him, but his breakaway attempt is quickly stopped by two more from the side. He thinks it’s instinct more than anything that tells him to pass the puck out diagonally and the next time he blinks, Phil’s there with it and it’s in the back of the net.

Something dips in his chest, that feeling he usually only gets if it’s the puck on his tape, and then he’s slamming into Phil. It’s not their first goal together, it’s not even their best, but as Carl watches the replay on the jumbotron he can’t help but wonder how they actually made that work.

“I didn’t even see you coming dude,” Carl says. Phil looks at him strangely, which, _duh,_ Carl thinks, _why would I have passed it if I didn’t know he was gonna be there._

“Never mind,” he says, a little self deprecatingly, “I don’t know,” and then they’re skating off to bump fists with their teammates.

He and Phil get second and third star that night, and Carl grins as he skates out onto the ice, stick raised in acknowledgement.

He racks up assists on goals and tries to feel good about that and not focus on the fact that he still hasn’t scored himself.

It’s not until the Ducks come to visit though, that Carl gets his first goal.

It’s late in the 1st, really late, less than 30 seconds left in the period late and Getzlaf had just scored on a turnover by Tanger. Carl’s out on the ice for the last shift, mostly just watching the clock run down, but then Cullen wins the faceoff. Carl’s waiting on the far side of the neutral zone when Phil gets him the puck and by then he’s past Anaheim’s defense and it’s just him staring down Gibson for those few long moments before the puck’s in the back of the net.

It’s a pretty goal, he’s not going to deny it. It’s not the best he’s ever scored and it’s probably not even the best goal of the night, but it feels really fucking good. He knows he’s shouting as Phil and Matt wrap their arms around him, and the rush at finally getting that goal feels impossibly multiplied. For a second it feels like he’s won it for them, won it all and he clutches his teammates closer.

He realizes later, once he’s off the ice and in the locker room for intermission that he probably just cut off any momentum that Anaheim was hoping to build, and, well, he’s only human if that feels pretty good too.

They continue rolling along, losing some but winning a lot more as the Pens seems to inconceivably pick up momentum as they slog uphill towards that prized playoff spot.

Carl’s settled into the same rhythm of the season as anywhere. He gets up too early, eats breakfast sitting alone at his kitchen counter, goes to practice, comes back and eats some lunch. Maybe he does some errands or takes a nap if they have a game later. He goes and plays, he goes out with teammates when they win, and he goes over for dinner on weekends. And at the end of each day he goes back to his pleasant but impersonal condo, that always feels a little too cold - despite the heat working properly - and gets into his bed that feels a little too big, rinses and repeats.

He tries not to think too much about this, chalks it up to exhaustion and the mid-spring grind of every hockey player. Overall, he can’t really complain, a little chill is miles better in his opinion than the dry dry heat of California, windy and a little acrid. At least here he feels like he can breathe.

 

\\\

 

Carl laughs the first time he goes to visit Phil in his oversized suburban home tucked in to the middle of a looping street. He doesn’t mean to, and to be fair it looks nearly identical to the houses and streets many of the Pens players live on. But it still just seems like an absurd amount of space for one person and Carl can’t help thinking Phil looks a little more out of place when he opens his front door for Carl than Tanger or Duper, their families sprawling through their many rooms.

It’s a quiet afternoon on an off day. Carl and Phil had made casual plans for lunch during morning practice. Carl wasn’t sure if Phil had been serious or not, but he decided he was and was already in the car by the time he texted Phil to ask for his address.

“All this room just for you?” he asks with a laugh, when Phil opens the door. Phil just shrugs, the edge of his mouth quirking up a little.

The weather has settled overcast and gray, the low cloud cover tucking into the trees around the edges of the Phil’s property. Carl feels a little like they’re the only people existing on the street, maybe even in the whole neighborhood, like they’ve stumbled into a separate little bubble of space and time.

“Yeah, I don’t even know man,” says Phil. “The Pens people suggested it and it seemed nice enough. I know it’s kinda big but, well, I’m hoping to be here for a while.” He trails off with another shrug.

Carl looks down at his sneakers for a second, jamming one against the edge of Phil’s welcome mat, before he flicks his eyes up again.

“Well, you gonna show me around, or you just gonna leave me out here in the cold?”

“Yeah man, of course,” Phil says laughing and stepping back to allow Carl to step into the foyer.

Carl trails Phil through a brief and slightly awkward tour of his house. It’s obviously been professionally decorated. Only a few of the rooms actually look lived in.  

“Up the stairs are the bedrooms,” says Phil, gesturing, before making to continue back to the kitchen.

“Wait, what?” asks Carl, a little teasing. “You gotta show me everything dude!”

Phil flushes slightly before ducking up the stairs and Carl follows him. Carl pauses in the doorway of one of the guest bedrooms and is suddenly struck with embarrassment, and a bit of sadness mixed in.

He looks at the untouched room, the slight film of dust coating the bureau and realizes he just pushed his way into something he’s pretty sure Phil didn’t want to show him. All these little rooms tucked away, waiting, a shadow of potential somewhere in Phil’s mind, and Carl feels a little sad that he can’t suddenly fill them all up for him.

“Dude,” says Carl, turning around to find Phil a little further down the hall, “I should just be living with you.”

And that’s really not what he meant to say. At all. He meant to say something about lunch and seeing Phil’s surprise, Carl wishes he could just reach out and shove those words back in his mouth.

“Uhhh,” says Carl instead. “I didn’t. Um.” He looks down to fiddle with his shirt and shit. He’d been doing so well here so far.

Phil’s brow is still furrowed when Carl looks back up. “I thought you liked your place?”

“I do!” Carl says hurriedly and maybe a bit too loudly. “I do. I was just… kidding,” he trails off.

“Anyway,” says Carl, as brightly as he can, turning around to head back down the stairs. “Let’s go eat. I’m starving. If I didn’t know better I’d swear some days they’re trying to kill us at practice.”

They end up tucked in Phil’s breakfast nook with sandwiches and chips. Carl’s mid-bite when Phil says somewhat shyly, “If you really want to, you could, you know. Live here I mean.”

Carl looks up a little startled and tries not to choke. “No, no,” he says through a mouth full of sandwich. “It was just,” he waves his hand a little as he swallows, “a bad joke. Sorry. I’m good at my place. Really.”

“Okay,” says Phil but he still looks a little uncertain.  

Carl shifts the conversation to the rookies antics at practice earlier and how Flower’s always goading them, which then turns to Phil pulling out his phone to show Carl pictures of Flower’s littlest girl from when he was over for dinner a few nights ago. The rest of lunch is easy and Carl can feel himself settle a little.

“Wanna watch something?” Carl offers after they’ve cleaned up a little.

Phil looks at him a little strangely and Carl braces himself for another comment about him wanting to live here, but it doesn’t come.

They settle on the couch and end up leaving on HGTV for multiple episodes of what might be different shows, but Carl can’t honestly tell. He’s sure the rookies would know, but that’s not really a conversation Carl wants to get sucked into - he’s already inadvertently been roped into one of their DIY days and isn’t sure he wants to repeat that anytime soon.

It’s cozy and Carl’s pulled one of the many decorative throw blankets over his lap a bit, legs tucked up under him. He feels properly warm for the first time all day and something in his chest expands a little.

 

\\\

 

A couple weeks later Carl and Phil get called into Sullivan’s office after practice, to find Geno already sitting there, along with one of the head trainers and another assistant coach.

“Have a seat guys,” Sullivan says, gesturing to the pair of empty chairs next to Geno.

They exchange a quick confused glance with each other, but comply. When Carl looks over at Geno next to him, he’s resolutely staring at the floor, like the standard grey carpeting is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. When Sullivan starts speaking again, Carl looks up, but Geno doesn’t.

“As you two might already know, the Pens organization isn’t usually big on working linebonds,” Sullivan says, perching on the edge of his desk. “It’s not something many of our players are interested in and we’d like to believe that hard work will get us just as far. That being said, we’ve really been liking the chemistry you three have on the ice. I’m not going to lie to you, we’re definitely looking for a little extra something this year, and I think you guys could be it. We don’t want to force you into anything all three of you don’t feel comfortable with, but I’d like you to seriously consider it. If you agree, we’d like to go ahead and run the initial tests soon, but,” he glances towards the trainer, “we feel confident that you’d pass.”  

Carl opens his mouth to say something, he doesn’t know what - maybe that he would think about it? - but before he can even start-

“No.” Geno says, firm and final.

“Geno,” says Sullivan, sounding softer but also a little exasperated. “We’d really like it if you at least took some time to think about it.”

“No!” Geno says again, verging on a little angry now, and Carl wonders if this is something they’d already discussed, just with Geno. “Won’t work.”

“Why?” asks Phil, from Carl’s other side. He mostly sounds confused, but also a little hurt, and Carl wonders if the same things are going through Phil’s mind as his own. He had thought they were working well together, things felt good out on the ice and while Carl hadn’t seen this coming, he couldn’t see any reason to not at least consider it.

“Just won’t,” Geno says, crossing his arms and finally lifting his head, but to look at Sullivan, not Phil or Carl. His jaw is clenched, and Carl’s seen this look before - on the ice, when Geno’s holding himself back from yelling at a ref or shoving a player after the whistle.

“Geno,” the trainer tries, again.

“No!” Geno’s standing now. “Don’t want bond. Won’t work. Not happening.”

Carl feels like he’s missed a whole other conversation and turns to look at Phil, finding a baffled expression on his face that Carl’s sure he himself must be mirroring. He catches movement in the corner of his eye and twists behind himself in time to see Geno slam the door behind himself.

“I’m very sorry that went like that,” Sullivan says, rubbing at his forehead, when they’ve both turned around to face him. “Geno’s not had the best luck with bonds in the past, but we were hoping he’d reconsider. It’s obvious your line has chemistry though, and we’ll just have to keep developing that like we’ve been doing.”

Carl gets the sense that they’ve been dismissed at this point and he and Phil stand up to make their way out to the hallway. Geno’s nowhere to be seen, and they stand there facing each other for a moment, eyes wide, before Carl can’t help letting out a slightly hysterical laugh. Phil’s laughing too then, and they stand there for a moment, hands clasped over mouths, trying not to make noise.

“What -” Carl starts, gasping in a breath, but Phil is already shrugging helplessly in return.

They start to make their way back to the locker room to finish grabbing their gear but Carl reaches out to grab Phil’s wrist before they get back to the locker room.

“Did you know they were gonna ask us?” Carl asks, quietly. “About a bond?”

“No, I had no idea. I’ve never-” he exhales loudly. “I didn’t know.”

“Do you think- ” Carl starts to say, but cuts himself off before he can get the full thought out.

“That Geno didn’t want to because of us?"

Carl nods.  

“No.” he pauses. “No. I mean. I guess maybe? But no, I don’t think so. He has to have other issues, right? Like Sully said?” He stares at Carl, searchingly.

“I mean, probably?” says Carl. “I don’t. I think -” he stops himself, but Phil’s still staring at him, eyes wide and a little freaked out. Carl looks down at the ground when he says, “I think we could’ve been good."

There’s a moment of silence and Carl glances back up to find that Phil’s deer-in-headlights look has only increased.

It’s Phil’s turn to glance away. “You had a linebond in New York, right?”

“Yeah,” says Carl quietly. Neither of them say anything else for a moment, hovering in the quiet hallway, before a shout of laughter from the locker room interrupts.

“C’mon,” says Phil, and Carl follows him back in, ducking out of the way of the tape ball war the rookies - plus Flower -  seem to have started in their absence.

Geno pulls them aside the next day before morning skate. Phil and Carl exchange questioning glances but follow him out into a mostly empty hallway. Geno turns around to face them when he’s deemed them far enough away from nosy teammates and leans against the cinderblock wall.

His arms are crossed defensively, but he’s also slumped, his posture looking as defeated as Carl’s ever seen him.

“Sorry,” Geno starts, “for yesterday. What I said, not about you. Is problem with me.”

Geno huffs out a breath. He sounds slightly nervous and Carl tries to wait patiently for him to continue.

“When I was rookie, I had linebond, but it,” he waves his hand a little, “not work right. It get messed up. Maybe used too much. Get too big, get stuck. Supposed to break it, but never really go away. Not supposed to work like that, not supposed to get stuck, but-” he breaks off with a half shrug.

“Don’t want you to get stuck,” he continues. “Don’t want to bond again. If we bond, I mess it up.”

Phil starts to open his mouth, but Geno continues before he can say anything, looking back down at his feet. “Not soulbond. Did all the tests, all say not soulbond. Just fucked up,” Geno laughs a little, self-deprecatingly.

Geno looks back up, but his gaze seems to get caught on something behind them. His eyes start to go wide and his mouth drops open a little.

Carl turns around to find Sid standing a little ways behind them, but definitely within earshot. He looks like he just got rammed into the boards. By a teammate.

His expression settles quickly though, jaw clenching and mouth flattening into a line.

“We need you guys back in the locker room,” Sid says flatly before turning around and walking back the way he came.

“Sid,” says Geno, from behind them, sounding a little helpless, but Sid doesn’t stop.

They lose to Tampa Bay that night and Carl feels a little off balance, can’t stop turning over Geno’s words from earlier in his head. He’s never heard of a linebond not being able to be broken before. There are certain limits to working bonds that you shouldn’t be able stretch, shouldn’t be able to push into something else entirely. He’s not sure how Geno managed to do it.

 

\\\

 

Their next two games are on the road and any tension that was there against Tampa Bay seems to have dissipated.

The games keep on rushing by, and Carl’s always been struck by the slightly breathless pace the season seems to adopt once it reaches March. There’s a weightiness to each game that’s not there in November, the routines and pregame rituals undertaken a little more seriously. The Pens are doing better than anyone ever expected, and sometimes he’ll catch even Sid looking a little stunned when a reporter mentions their recent record. It’s gone in a flash, but he knows that despite whatever preseason hopes a team might have, it’s always a little hard to believe you’ll actually end up making it.

When he looks at a calendar he realizes he’s only been in Pittsburgh for about a month and half, but already Anaheim feels like a bad fever dream. Some days he still catches himself tracing along his mental shield, a nervous tick now more than anything. It hurts to think that he’ll never be a Ranger again, that he might never get a linebond again.

He’s talked to Mats and Derick very little in the last couple months, a few texts when he left the Ducks, and then largely radio silence. Carl know’s he’s not innocent in this, that he could’ve reached out just as easily as they could, but there’s a little part of him that feels like he shouldn’t have had to. He mostly just shoves it down and concentrates on fitting into the Penguins. He jokes and smiles and builds new friendships and they start to fill up the parts of his life left empty for the first half of the season. It helps that he knew more of the guys on the team than he did in Anaheim but regardless, he feels like they’ve achieved a tentative equilibrium, that things have started to settle.

And then Carl gets hurt.

He doesn’t even really remember how it happens. Which, _Yeah,_ he realizes later, _that’s probably not a good thing._ He’s down in the Flame’s end and then he’s down on the ice, something wet dripping down his face a bit. It’s only when he takes off his glove to press his hand against his head that he realizes that it’s not the cold feel of melted ice, but the hot sticky texture of blood. He manages to skate off on his own and is quickly ushered down the tunnel to the trainers offices.

Carl finds himself lying back on one of the tables, eyes shut tight against the bright lights. They quickly numb the area before putting a couple stitches in and hurrying him off to do concussion protocols. He apparently passes to their satisfaction, and they hand him a few pills before leaving him alone in the dark for a few moments. He’s sure someone will be back in a few minutes to explain to him what to do next. Despite not having an actual concussion, Carl’s head is throbbing, and the thick dark quiet of the empty room feels almost as good as he’s pretty sure an ice pack would.

He hears the door crack open slightly and looks up to see Phil’s silhouette slip through.

“Hey,” he says softly, making his way slowly over to Carl in the dark. “They said you passed so it was fine for me to come see you. They don’t want you to drive yourself though, so I’m gonna give you a ride.”

“Okay,” says Carl softly, and he’s sure he sounds kinda rough.

“How are you feeling?” Phil asks, stepping closer and putting a tentative hand on Carl’s shoulder.

“Not the best,” Carl says, honestly. He sags a little against Phil’s hand and starts to lose track of time again.

He thinks the meds are kicking in a little because he seems to drift through getting out of most of his gear and out into Phil’s car. He’s pretty sure Phil’s carrying both their bags, but he can’t really bring himself to care to check.

It’s only once he’s buckled into the passenger seat that he looks down and realizes he’s still in his under armour, hadn’t showered or anything. He makes a face at himself, but when he looks over at Phil he seems unconcerned, so Carl figures there must be nothing to be concerned about.

Carl assumes that Phil’s just going to take him to his condo, but it’s not until they pull into the driveway that Carl actually registers that Phil’s gone to his own house.

“What-” Carl starts to say as he gets out, but he trips a little and suddenly Phil’s there to steady him.

“I just thought it would be easier,” Phil says. “I have plenty of room and I wanted to be able to keep an eye on you.”

Phil pauses in the living room to ask Carl if he wants anything to eat, but Carl’s stomach roils a little at the thought of that so he just shakes his head. They head upstairs.

“C’mon,” Phil says, taking Carl by the wrist and leading him down the hall towards, Carl realizes suddenly, the master bedroom he never got to see that other time. He doesn’t bother trying to take a good look around, just sits down heavily on the side of the bed, unsure what to do next. His head’s feels thick, forehead still numb and painkillers having made everything foggy.

“Um,” says Phil, and Carl looks up to find him standing in front of Carl fidgeting. “Do you wanna take a shower, or something?”

Carl thinks about how he’s still in his game clothes, dried sweat sticking them to his body and he nods.

“Okay,” Phil says. “There’s a sorta ledge in there so I think you should probably sit down. And I’m going to leave the door open just in case.”

Phil hovers behind Carl as he makes his way into the attached bathroom, and turns on the water while Carl attempts to get his shirt off. He gets a little stuck and Phil ends up having to help him, guiding the collar up and over his stitches.

“Should’ve just cut it off,” Phil mutters and Carl tries to laugh. He’s not really sure if he succeeds or not.

“Oh, and um, you probably shouldn’t get that bandage wet so,” he breaks off to root around in a drawer before coming back up with a shower cap, obviously taken from a hotel at some point. Carl just stands there as Phil manages to get it over his bandage and part of his hair.

He looks a little unsure of how to help Carl with the next part so Carl waves him off, and Phil makes his way back to the bedroom.

He manages to get fully undressed and into the tub without any major problems and then just sits there for a long moment, letting the water wash over him. He takes a bit of what he thinks is body wash, although, he figures shampoo would probably work just as well and soaps up his arms and legs.

He hears Phil come back into the bathroom some time after he’s finished rinsing off and is just sitting under the spray.

“Hey man, you doing okay?” His voice comes floating through the frosted glass.

“Yeah,” Carl manages to reply. “I think I’m done."

He remembers to turn off the water before he slides the door open a little and sticks his head out. Phil’s standing there with a towel outstretched and his head turned away. Carl grabs the towel and manages to wrap it around himself before trying to step out. Phil grabs his hand before Carl can slip and he grabs the glass door with his other to steady himself. Phil points out the clothes left on the counter before leaving Carl to himself once again.

He pulls on the plain Pens shirt and boxers, foregoing the sweatpants because they just seem like too much effort.

When he gets back to the bedroom he sees Phil’s left a glass of water on one of the bedside tables and Carl sits down before downing half of it.

He notices Phil on the other side of the room, pulling some more pajamas out of a set of drawers.

“You can go ahead and get into bed,” Phil says softly, not turning around. “I’m just going to get something to eat. I’ll be right back.”

Carl crawls under the covers, trying to arrange himself on his right side so his stitches don’t touch the pillow. He feels like he’s sinking into the mattress, the duvet cocooning him in and it’s a little disorienting with the fog in his head, but he’s drifting off before he can focus on it.

He’s asleep by the time Phil gets back but rouses a little when he shuts off the light. Carl figures he must’ve also gone and showered, because a little while after that he feels the bed dip as someone else gets in. He snuggles down a little more into the warmth and is immediately back to sleep.

He wakes up sometime in the middle of the night to immense pain radiating from his forehead. He groans a little as he sits up. They must’ve given Phil a prescription before they left because there’s a small yellow bottle on the bedside table. Carl fumbles it open, popping one in his mouth.

He lies back down on his back and shuts his eyes, trying to wait for the meds to kick in. He can feel Phil not too far away, more towards the middle of the bed than the other side, his breathing deep and even. The bed is warmer than any Carl’s slept in in months, and yet Carl feels like he’s floating on his own separate island, worlds away from Phil’s peaceful sleep. His hand comes up to cover his mouth as he feels tears prick his eyes. He grits his teeth but that only sends a sharp jolt of pain up through his whole head.

He must let out a little sob, because Phil seems to wake up a bit at that. Phil reaches for Carl and then sits up on his elbow as he feels Carl’s body shake a little under his hand.

“Hey,” he says quietly. Maybe a bit sadly. “Hey, c’mere.” He pulls Carl towards him, and Carl goes easily, tucking his head into Phil’s shoulder and fisting his hand in his soft sleep shirt. He runs a soothing hand across Carl’s back as Carl cries onto him.

After a few minutes, or maybe longer, the meds have started to make everything fuzzy again, Carl pulls his head away little.

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, sniffing. “I don’t know why-” he breaks off to try and roll over and grab some kleenex from the bedside table. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.” He says again. He curls back up on his side of the bed again.

“Hey,” he hears Phil say again from behind him. He doesn’t respond, just tucks himself in smaller. “Hey,” and this time it’s accompanied with a hand on his shoulder turning him back over to face Phil. Carl turns his head and sees Phil, half his face outlined slightly by the streetlamp filtering in through the edges of the curtains. He looks worried and a wave of guilt goes through Carl.

“No, no,” says Phil, hand urging Carl back towards the middle of the bed, “there’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s okay. You’re allowed to be sad. You’re hurt, but it’s gonna be alright.” Carl fully rolls back over and scooches back next to Phil, tucking himself against him.

Carl’s head’s gone fuzzy again and he feels himself drift back off to sleep, his leg tucked between Phil’s and Phil’s hand rubbing slow circles on his back.

 

\\\

 

Carl’s alone in bed when he wakes up the next morning. His head hurts like a bitch and he pats blindly at the bedside table before finding the pill bottle. He thinks he should maybe only take a half of one though, isn’t sure he wants to be as fuzzy as he was last night.

He groans when he has to open his eyes to break the pill, the gray morning light still feeling like an assault to his senses, and shuts them again as fast as he can, lying there in the soft bed while he waits for something to kick in.

He tries to go through last night, the memories floating through his mind and it takes a bit of concentration to focus in on one. Everything at the rink after he hit the ice is a bit of a blur. He remembers bits and pieces but he mostly remembers Phil coming in to take him home. Home to Phil’s house. Phil taking care of him and getting him into bed and _well, fuck, that’s embarrassing,_ Phil being calm and comforting while Carl had a whole goddamn breakdown on him.

Carl’s traitorous mind tries to wander back to how good it had felt to fall asleep tucked up next to someone, cozy and actually warm. Something hot flares at the bottom of Carl’s stomach, so sudden he almost feels dizzy. There’s guilt and shame, but more than anything there’s want. _Fuck,_ Carl thinks again, for the second time in as many minutes, and tries to shove the thought out of his mind.

Carl pushes himself up and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, pausing for a moment while his vision fades to black and then clears again. He downs the rest of the glass of water from the bedside table and heads to the bathroom.

He wanders downstairs when he’s done, looking around for Phil. In lieu of the actual person, he finds a note propped up against a bowl on the counter, a box of cereal behind it. “Had to go to practice,” it reads in a small cramped script that Carl can only assume is Phil’s. “Please have some breakfast. Don’t try and drive yourself home.”

Carl can’t help but laugh a bit at that, because what car would he even use? He has every intention of just getting an Uber and heading home to change and maybe go back to bed, if he’s being honest with himself, but his stomach growls loudly and he takes another look back at the cereal. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt. He turns to root around in Phil’s fridge for some milk. And maybe some eggs. And while he’s at it maybe some jam for toast.

He calls the front office while he’s eating and schedules a time to go in and see the trainers later that day. He cleans up after himself, tucks everything back in its place, and goes upstairs to grab his meds.

He’s not entirely certain if he had his coat with him when they left the rink yesterday and his under armour is nowhere to be seen so Carl assumes Phil threw it in the wash with his own. He decides that Phil wouldn’t mind if Carl borrowed a sweatshirt for the ride home and roots around in his dresser for a moment. He grabs a Pens one with a little 81 in the corner, only to find a worn Leafs hoodie carefully folded under it.

Carl chokes a little and swallows down hard. He reaches out to fiddle with the collar and realizes that somehow, in the few months that he’s been in Pittsburgh, he’d completely forgotten that Phil wasn’t always a Pen. It seems ridiculous, he spent years in the NHL with Phil Kessel as a Leaf. Just like Carl had spent years as a Ranger. He looks around Phil’s room again and realizes there’s almost nothing in this room, save a few framed photos, that speaks to Phil’s time in Toronto. Carl knows what he himself had to give up to get to Pittsburg, to start to feel like he belonged again and is struck by the fact that he doesn’t know what that was like for Phil.

He shoves the drawer closed and hurries out of Phil’s room and down the stairs.

Carl spends his ride home feeling a little ill. He blames it on the combo of the meds, a big breakfast after having skipped dinner, and his Uber driver taking a few corners too fast.

He leans his forehead against the cool glass and shuts his eyes. He pushes up against the shield in his head and feels his stomach sink. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He has a team he gets along with amazingly, they’re on fire and he’s playing better hockey than he ever has. It should be everything he’s ever wanted, and yet sometimes he still feels so fucking lonely. He shouldn’t miss his bond with Mats and Derick this much, shouldn’t feel like there’s something missing. He has everything he thought he wanted and yet there’s a pit in his stomach, an acrid taste in the back of his mouth, that won’t go away.

 

\\\

 

The rest of the Pens had left for a short road trip that afternoon and Carl’s curled up on his couch watching last week’s How to Get Away With Murder when his phone dings. He turns it over to see a text from Phil blinking up at him.

He’d received something from most of the Pens at some point already, including a lengthy email from Sid on what to do if he thought he was having concussion symptoms followed by a shorter text telling him to feel better, not to take it too fast, and that he was having groceries delivered for Carl. It was a little overwhelming if Carl’s being honest but he’s also not feeling up to arguing when he’s pretty sure it’s just Sid trying to be nice. He’d gotten a sad selfie of Horny on the plane with an empty seat next to him. Geno just sent a series of “((((“ and a link to a video of otters cuddling. Carl’s not really sure what that was supposed to mean, but it was pretty cute.

Phil’s text reads, “How are you doing? I was hoping you’d still be at home when I got back - wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Carl’s pretty sure Phil just mean “home” as in Phil’s house, not as in, a home both of them share, but Carl can’t help imagining suddenly, remembering back to being tucked up against Phil last night. Carl shoves his phone under his side and pulls his blanket a little closer around him, trying to ignore how he feels a little cold regardless.

It’s much later, as Carl reaches over to set his alarms for the next day that he realizes he never texted Phil back. “Doing okay,” he types back. “Head hurts, but nothing on Sid’s list seems to apply.” He adds a laughing emoji and calls it good. There’s a part of him that just wants to call Phil instead, to not have to guess at text messages, to see if Phil feels as awkward about last night as Carl does. He can’t really justify it to himself though. They’ve become friends over the last couple months but nothing more, nothing to qualify for a late night call - something that’s usually reserved for family.

Carl watches the Pens beat the Devils and then lose to the Rangers from the same place on his couch.

It’s felt strange all season, playing against Mats and Derick. He’s mostly gotten over the urge to reach for the bond when he sees them, and the shields he’s built up have helped. It’s even stranger though to watch from afar as the two teams he’s ever felt a true part of square up against each other. It’s like watching his life through a shop window, except he’s not there, still isn't quite sure where he’s supposed to fit in.

He’s gone to Cranberry to see the trainers and try a little ice time the last couple days, but the rest of it has been spent cuddled up watching increasingly trashy tv in between hockey games. The rest of the team has continued to check in on him, nearly constantly, but Phil more so than any of the others. He woke up that next morning to multiple pictures of the team - at breakfast, on the bus, a short video that he assumes was intended to highlight how hideous Rusty’s choice of music was that day.

It’s nothing he ever expected, having another team - a teammate - who cared enough to keep him feeling included. He can’t help grinning every time he gets a new text from Phil - a picture of Shearsy and Muzz asleep on top of each other on the bus in their game day suits. “Jen should hire you” Carl texts back after that last one, with a laughing emoji.

Once the swelling’s gone down on his forehead, the headaches start to ease too and Carl feels okay with saying that he really didn’t have a concussion. They decide to have him drive out for the next game against the Blue Jackets and Carl can feel himself relax bit by bit the whole time. It’s weird, heading to a game by himself, but he can start to feel his anxious nerves from the last few days start to settle as he watches the rural landscape roll by. It’s early March and most of the trees are still winter-bare and Carl feels cocooned by the grey sky and quiet rhythmic shift of the car.

 

\\\

 

Carl sent off a quick group text to let everyone know he was headed up, but Phil texts him back separately, asking what time he’s arriving.

Carl texts him again when he gets to the hotel, instinctively adds his room number once he’s gotten his room key from their people. He’s in a single tonight, probably because they weren’t expecting him, and he drops his bags on the floor before flopping onto his back on the bed.

He feels better here than he did in Pittsburgh, but he’s not sure why. It’s not like his residual headache magically disappeared during the drive, but he feels a little more settled. He’s never been great at being alone, and a week of back to back days in his perpetually chilly condo, without hockey, without his teammates, had left him feeling anxious, a cold knot in his stomach.

He’s lying on his hotel bed, breathing deeply, when he hears a knock on the door. He’s not sure who it is - he sent Horny his room number too, or maybe Sid coming to do his captainly duties and check in on Carl. But when he opens the door it’s Phil.

“Hey,” Phil says, shifting a little awkwardly, one hand running through the hair at the back of his neck. “You gave me your room number so I just figured…” he trails off.

“Yeah dude, no of course, I’m glad to see you,” Carl steps back to hold the door open for Phil.

“You’re feeling better?” Phil asks, still hovering by the door. Carl heads back over to the bed, sort of hoping that Phil will just follow his lead and make himself comfortable.

“Yeah, much,” he says, settling back against the headboard. “Stitches are out and the headache is basically gone,” and okay maybe that’s not quite all the way true, but he really doesn’t want Phil to feel like he has to worry about him anymore.

Phil settles onto the bed too and they chat for a bit, Phil catching him up on their road trip so far and explaining some of the weirder pictures he’d sent. Carl’s not ready to be alone again yet though so they end up turning on the tv to some cooking competition. Carl’s not even sure which one, it’s not really his interest area usually, but Phil seems to know and chats about it a little, explaining the format and what’s been going on this season.

It’s comfortable. Carl’s still in his jeans and a worn henley from earlier, but the bed’s soft and warm and he can feel himself getting sleepy. He yawns widely and can feel Phil shift a little, like he’s making to get up.

“I should probably get going,” Phil starts to say but Carl reaches out to grab his arm.

“Just finish this episode okay,” Carl says. “I need you to explain the rest to me.”

Phil settles back onto the bed, a little closer to Carl this time. After just a couple minutes though, Carl can start to feel his eyes slide shut. He struggles to keep them open without making it too obvious, but eventually just gives up - figures Phil will wake him up when the episode’s actually over.

When he next wakes up though, it’s definitely later, the tv turned off and just the light from the bathroom softly illuminating the room. Phil’s gingerly trying to slip off the bed, presumably without waking up Carl.

Carl sits up though and rubs his eyes.

“Hey, what time is it,” he tries to ask softly, but it comes out a little scratchy.

Phil jumps a bit and Carl realizes he hadn’t realized yet that Carl was awake too.

“Hey man, I didn’t mean for it to get so late, I accidentally fell asleep too.” He looks sheepish, slipping into his shoes and edging his way towards the door.

Carl slides off his side of the bed and makes his way over to where Phil is.

“No, it’s totally fine,” Carl says, his laugh getting cut off by another yawn. “I’ll let you get to bed though.”

Phil pulls the door open behind him and steps out into the hallway. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

“Mhmm,” Carl says sleepily, “Goodnight.”

He goes to brush his teeth and change into pajamas before grabbing his phone to set an alarm. “1:36” blinks up at him from his lock screen. _Shit_ , he thinks, _shit shit shit._ They must have been asleep for a couple hours and _how had he completely missed that fact?_

He lies in bed for a long time afterwards, staring up at the ceiling, as he tries not to miss the presence of someone next to him. _This is enough_ , he tells himself, but he’s not sure he really believes it.

 

\\\

 

He’s lacing up his skates ahead of their game the next day when he feels someone sit down next to him. When they nudge him a little, Carl looks up to find Phil there, just like Carl’s very first game. 

“You’re sure you’re totally okay?” Phil asks again.

“Yes,” Carl says, trying to sound confident. “Honestly, I’m good. I’m ready.” He can’t help smiling at that though. Phil smiles back and Carl knows they’re both remembering that first game.

Carl looks away then, back at his skates and mumbles, “Don’t worry about me.”

“Hey,” says Phil, softer, and when Carl doesn’t look up, Phil reaches out and puts a hand on his knee. Carl looks up then.

“I’m gonna worry about you anyway,” Phil says. “You’re my liney.” He pauses. “And my friend,” he says more firmly.

Carl can feel himself blush slightly. “Okay,” he says, biting his lip. “Well I guess if I can’t stop you,” he shrugs and grins. Phil huffs and shoves him a little, before standing up and making his way back across the room.

When Carl looks away and around the rest of the room, he notices Sid staring at him, head tilted a little. Carl makes eye contact, tilting his head and furrowing his brow as if asking a question. Sid shakes his head a little and goes back to taping his stick, but Carl can’t help feeling a little like he got found out somehow.

Carl ends up getting the game winning goal that night, partway through the second period of a closely fought, chippy game. It’s not very pretty, multiple rebounds off of Phil and Geno and then Carl whacking away until the puck’s in the back of the net. It does the job though - and he ends up with first star of the night - but it’s marred by Geno going off the ice shortly after with an injury to his elbow. He knows it’s not good when Geno’s not back a few minutes later, and when he’s already out of some of his gear when they head back in for second intermission.

Carl doesn’t get to talk to Geno after the game. By the time Carl’s settled in his stall and out of his skates, Sid’s already over talking to Geno by the trainer’s room, hand high on his shoulder. Geno seems to disappear afterwards, simply showing up again in his suit on the bus. From his face, you’d have no idea that they had won tonight and Carl doesn’t think now’s the right time for a chat.

They’re at the point during a roadtrip where the exhaustion starts to hit, and most of the team opts out of going out after dinner. Carl heads back to his room after dinner, toeing off his shoes before grabbing his phone to text Phil, “hey, do you wanna watch some tv or something? can’t sleep yet”

He’s changed into sweats by the time there’s a knock at the door.

They don’t talk much as they get settled on Carl’s bed, settling on HGTV tonight. They’re closer than they were last night, their legs outstretched and thighs touching. They’re a few minutes into watching a couple debate bathroom design when Phil says, “Congrats on the first star by the way. Just because I didn’t get to say it before.”

“Oh!” says Carl, eloquently. “Um, thanks.” There’s a slightly uncomfortable pause as Carl tries to figure out whether he should say something more. “I told you I could do it,” he says with a bit of a smirk. “I guess you shouldn’t have doubted me.”

Phil just frowns at that though. “I didn’t mean to doubt you,” he says. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You’re always amazing on the ice.” He looks down, fiddles with the hem of his t-shirt.

“Hey, I know,” says Carl, nudging Phil with his shoulder. “I mean, I know you were just looking out. Thanks. I just, I’m not very good with this. I wasn’t expecting it.” And _shit,_ that’s a little more honest than Carl had meant to be. That seems to keep happening with Phil, something about him getting under Carl’s carefully constructed boundaries that he’s had in place since Anaheim. Despite Pittsburgh being entirely different, despite him knowing they want him, he can’t seem to take them down, still hides behind jokes, pranks with Tanger, the idea of him as someone cool that the rookies seem to have decided on. Although, that last one doesn’t bother him as much.

Phil smiles back at him and shifts down a little, settling more into Carl’s side. “Well you better get used to it.”

They stay like that through the rest of the couple’s home renovation decisions and by the end Carl can start to feel himself drifting off. He knows he should probably move, let Phil leave at the end of the episode, but he’s comfortable and warm and he wants to be selfish. So he doesn't move and doesn’t say anything and Phil doesn’t either.

Carl must pass out again though, because he wakes up to a repeat of last night and Phil trying to slip off unnoticed. Tonight though Carl reaches out and grabs Phil’s wrist before he can get all the way off the bed.

“You, um, you can stay,” he says, voice a little too loud for the quiet of the room. And, _shit, that sounds like they slept together -_ “I mean, like, if you want, I dunno,” he says, scrambling. “It’s late. Or whatever.”

Phil laughs a little at that, but rolls back fully onto the bed. “Yeah,” he says. “It is late. And I guess I’m already ready for bed.”

He settles on his back under the covers on the other side of the bed from Carl, staring up at the ceiling. Carl can tell he’s tense though and _yeah that’s not going to work._

“C’mere,” he says, reaching across Phil’s chest to try and tug him onto his side and closer. Carl hadn’t gotten around to closing the curtains fully earlier, and there’s enough streetlight coming in that he can see Phil’s confused expression. He scooches closer to Carl though, and Carl tucks himself in, face to face, arm curling around Phil’s back.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly, and when Phil whispers back, “Yeah,” Carl just snuggles closer. He ends up with his head tucked into Phil’s shoulder, one of his calves between Phil’s. He falls back asleep like that, Phil’s quiet breaths soft against Carl’s forehead.

Carl wakes up facing the other way, but with Phil still pressed up against him, spooning him from behind. He’s warm, almost too warm really, but Carl just revels in it for a moment. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t felt this good waking up in ages. Not for months, not in Pittsburgh, and most definitely not in Anaheim.

But he’s also hard. Like, shit, he’s really hard. His senses really start kicking in then and he realizes Phil’s mouth is slightly open against the back of Carl’s neck, his breath hot and wet. Phil’s thigh is pressed up high between Carl’s and it takes all of Carl’s self control to not just grind down a little bit.

He can’t blame his body, not really. This is the first time he’s slept next to someone - without a debilitating head injury - in months.

Phil’s hand is low on Carl’s stomach, a couple fingers tucked up under the hem of his shirt. Carl shifts away a little, testing his grip and Phil mumbles a little and presses Carl back even closer. And Carl would probably laugh a bit if he wasn’t trying so hard not to freak out, because he can feel that Phil’s hard too.

Carl’s mind goes completely blank before he becomes aware of the fact that his heart rate has just skyrocketed. A part of him wants this so badly, wants Phil, wants to stay in in this warm, safe bed forever, but the rest of him feels like throwing up at the thought of screwing everything up. He’s started to love playing for this team, loves the chemistry they’ve developed on the ice, loves the friendships he’s started to build; with Horny and Geno and Tanger and most importantly, with Phil.

Phil who’s somehow become Carl’s anchor in Pittsburgh, the one he can look to when they’re down late in the second and they just instinctively know what to do. The one who he always feels settled around, the one who he really really doesn’t want to lose. And he just can’t.

In one swift movement he pulls Phil’s hand off his stomach and slides out of bed. He hears Phil shift behind him, but when Carl peaks back, he’s rolled onto his stomach, arms around a pillow, still asleep. Carl ducks into the bathroom, locking the door behind himself and pressing his forehead against the cool tile shower.

He ends up jerking off anyway, as perfunctory as he can, because if that little freak out didn’t kill his boner, then nothing was going to. He tries not to think about how good it felt to be pressed up against Phil, because that’s just a little creepy if he’s being honest. But it’s when his mind decides to revisit Phil’s mouth, warm against his neck, that he comes.

He towels off and resolves to Not Do That Again, and by the time he’s out of the bathroom, Phil’s nowhere to be seen. He knows they should probably talk, but he’s not even sure what he’d say. It’s not like they’d really did anything that different from what they’d done before - or at least, that they did consciously.

So instead he gets dressed and goes to breakfast with the team and chirps the rookies with Tanger and goes to practice and pretends like everything’s exactly the same as it was a week ago.

Phil doesn’t bring it up either, so Carl figures he isn’t freaking out about anything, or if he is, he’s doing the same thing Carl is and shoving it deep down. Instead, everything stays relatively normal between them.

If anything, when they get back to Pittsburgh, Carl still feels closer to Phil than he did before any of this shit went down. They text more than they did before - dumb things they find at the grocery store or what reality tv they’ve ended up watching - and their on ice chemistry at practice feels even better, like he can almost predict where Phil’s going to be.

His condo still feels too impersonal and too cold, but Carl isn’t as bothered by it as he was.

A couple days later, the team finds out that Geno’s probably out for the rest of the regular season, and Carl’s stomach sinks like a fucking boulder. Carl has hope about their line with Bonino, it’s feeling good, but they haven’t been producing like they were with Geno and it’s hard not to worry.

And beyond the ice, it’s hard not to worry about Geno as a teammate. He knows Geno’s been injured badly before, knows he can probably deal with it on his own, but Carl also knows that this has still gotta feel terrible. They were on a roll, Geno was on a roll, and now his season’s come crashing down. It’s every NHL-ers nightmare and Carl resolves to get to playoffs, to get Geno back, to get them a chance.

 

//

 

It takes them a bit to find a rhythm with Bones, but once they do it’s crazy good. They get their first real goal as a line a few games in and and by their game against Detroit later in the month they’re on fire. They rack up four goals involving at least two members of their line and the three of them end up as first, second and third star.

Phil pulls the two of them aside later when they’re out with most of the team. They’re at some middle america bar where no one’s paying much attention to them, top 40 rock playing loudly over the speakers and cheap beer on tap. Phil brings over another round for the three of them and ushers them over to a smaller table.

“So I’ve been thinking,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the noise of the bar. “I think we should get a linebond.”

And, that was really not what Carl was expecting. He chokes a little. Too stunned to even say anything, he just stares at Phil, mouth hanging open a little. Nick is looking back and forth between them, a little lost.

“Okay?” says Nick slowly. “I mean, we could talk about it? But I feel like I’m missing something here.”

“They sorta offered us one a while ago,” Carl says, brow furrowed. “With Geno.”

“Yeah,” says Phil, “but Geno didn’t want to do it. Had a bad experience with a bond or something. But we know they thought Carl and I had chemistry or whatever,” he says with a hand wave, “and the three of us have been good too. Really good. Like maybe even better than with G.”

“You really think so?” asks Nick.

“Yeah man. What we did tonight? That was insane. That almost never happens with a line. And we already know they’d like some kind of extra boost, and I think we could do that. We could make a bond work.”

Nick’s watching Phil intently. They’re all a few drinks deep and Phil’s eyes are shining a little with an excitement Carl hasn’t seen off the ice before. Nick looks like he’s starting to believe him.

“Do you really think we’d be compatible?” Nick asks.

“Yes,” says Carl and they both turn to look at him, surprised. Carl fidgets with his drink coaster. “Yeah. I -” he takes a deep breath, “I had less, whatever, with Mats and Derick when we first got put together. I don’t think we’d have any problem passing the tests.”

“Yeah, okay” says Nick. “The let’s do this. I wanna win this thing.”

“You better not let Sid hear you saying things like that,” says Phil grinning. “Knock on some wood or something.”

Nick taps his knuckles against the table obligingly, and grins back. “Okay,” he says, looking back and forth at them, “so we’ll talk to management when we get back?”

“Yeah,” says Phil. “Yeah sounds good.”

Nick reaches across the table to clap them both on the shoulders, squeezes, looks at them intensely for a moment and then grins and wanders off to find where the rest of their team went.

Phil and Carl are left sitting there in, well, it’s definitely not silent in the bar, but they’re not talking.

Phil nudges Carl with his foot. “You okay with this?”

“I-” says Carl hesitantly. “Are you really sure you want this?” he asks holding Phil’s gaze. “Playing with a bond, it’s… different. It feels more, like, intimate. Closer. It can be kinda a lot at first.”

“I know that I think we’re good together,” says Phil. “I know that I think we could be even better. I know that I want this.” Phil’s looking at him intently, leaning over their little table. Carl tries not to let himself think about those words in a different context.

He goes back to fidgeting with his coaster. “Yeah, okay, I think we’d be good too.”

It’s when they’re in a cab back to their hotel an hour or so later that Carl looks over at Phil, head leaned against the glass, and decides. “I want the bond. I really do. I just don’t want to have to break another one just yet.”

Phil turns to look at him, a soft expression on his face, and Carl feels something in his chest clench. Phil doesn’t say anything else, just reaches out and covers Carl’s hand with his own. They ride the rest of the way back like that, Phil’s pinky tucked slightly under Carl’s hand, and Carl thinks if he were to close his eyes he could see the possibilities. He keeps his eyes open.

 

//

 

They’re in Sullivan’s office again a couple days later with all the same staff as the last time Phil and Carl were in here. Carl has a crazy moment where he imagines Geno storming in, telling them they can’t get bonded, but nothing like that happens. They’d already discussed their idea with Sullivan, and it seems like everyone in the room’s on the same page. Phil explains briefly again and Carl watches the trainers nod and the assistant coaches exchange some excited glances.

“Okay, well, we can run some preliminary tests now if you feel ready?” one of the trainers asks.

Carl most definitely does not feel ready. As much as he wants this, wants to have a bond again, wants to have a bond with this team, he doesn’t feel ready to mess with his shield, to open up his mind again to something, to someone, new.

“I’m assuming all three of you have some sort of shielding practice?” the trainer continues and they all nod. “Good, that means you’ll have an easier time settling the bond, but in order to check for compatibility or to initiate the bond, you’ll have to take them down for the time being.”  

“Right now?” Carl asks, hating the slight note of panic in his voice. Phil seems to notice and looks over at him, concerned. The trainer nods. “If that’s okay with you,” she says.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Carl says.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and starts taking down his shield, piece by piece. He’s partway through when he can start to sense the space beyond, where a bond would exist if he currently had one. He had assumed it would feel smooth, healed over, like nothing - like it had before he bonded with Mats and Derick. But it doesn’t. It feels big, like there’s some expanse of space there. But it doesn’t feel empty either, it’s -

_Oh._

The rest of his shield comes crashing down and Carl feels like a wave is breaking over him, slamming him into the rocks. He feels breathless and overwhelmed, like some other force out of his control is propelling him, like he’s not sure which direction is which.

 _“OH.”_ says a voice in the back of his head in response. Carl can’t stop staring at Phil, eyes wide and jaw hanging open a bit.

Carl sits down. Hard. Only the chair isn’t quite where he expected it to be and he ends up sprawled on the floor. He’s vaguely aware of people crouching next to him, asking him something, but he can’t quite make it out because his whole mind is preoccupied with _Phil._

Every emotion he’s felt in the few months he’s been in Pittsburgh has been amplified tenfold, his mind taking him through a highlights reel of their moments together - that first day in the locker room, their first game on a line together, their first goal together, them out with the team smushed together in a booth, next to each other in countless locker rooms, eating countless pregame meals, showing up at Phil’s house the first time, tucked up on Phil’s couch together, in Phil’s breakfast nook, in Phil’s bed -

And then he feels a hand on his wrist and everything -

Settles.

He looks up and sees Phil kneeling next to him, and now that Carl can think he notices that his own heartbeat is racing, that he’s short of breath, panting, and that Phil seems to be similarly affected.

_What-_

_“Is this a -”_

_I think so but how did we not know?_

_“I thought we were supposed to know”_

Carl’s not sure how to get words to come out of his mouth when everything that comes into his head seems to be pushed to Phil before he can even move his jaw. They’re thinking back and forth at each other, faster and faster until Carl’s panting and clutching at Phil’s hand.

It’s like he’s being dragged along by some unseen current, he can’t quite think, can’t breathe, completely surrounded by the bond but it’s also _good._ It’s so fucking good and Carl feels like his mind is expanding, tripping over itself as it pulls more and more into his consciousness. More emotions, more memory, more Phil.

Carl’s mouth is open, dragging in ragged breaths when he becomes aware of Phil’s forehead pressed against his own and he can hear Phil counting slowly, his soft breath warm against Carl’s cheek. Slowly, their breaths start to sync. Carl loses track of how long they sit there for, just breathing. He gradually becomes aware of everyone else still crouched around them, the concern almost palpable in the air and Carl can’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet.

Instead, Carl is struck by how absurd his current situation. He’d come in dreading another linebond, dreading something else to break when one of them’s inevitably traded away, but he hadn’t wanted to let down his teammates, his friends. And now _I’m on the floor with my soulmate,_ he thinks, _I didn’t even know, how did we not know!_  There’s a soft glow around the word soulmate though, as if Phil’s happy to hear it. As if Phil’s happy to be with him.

Carl starts giggling. He gets a flash of worry from Phil, but then Carl must somehow push whatever he’s feeling at him and Phil’s laughing too - both of them slumped against Sullivan’s desk.

An indeterminable - at least for Carl - period of time later, they’re both seated, pressed thigh to thigh, on one of the tables in the trainer's office. One of Phil’s arms is around his shoulders and Carl feels a bit more grounded. He still feels a little overstimulated, things hazy around the edges, but he’s able to focus on what the trainer’s saying to them.

“While this isn’t common, it’s not unheard of,” she starts off. “We think that you were both kept from realizing the bond because of the shields you had in place. Carl, did you work on shielding after you left New York?”

Carl manages to nod, still not really sure what will come out if he opens his mouth.

“Okay, we thought you probably had. And Phil, did you have any shielding up when you came to Pittsburgh?”

“Yeah,” he hears Phil say softly, and there’s an odd echo to it - that he can both hear Phil say it out loud and feel Phil think it in his head.

“We think the bond was initiated when you first met,” she continues, “but because of your shields you were kept from feeling it.

Carl thinks back to that first day, that rush of warmth and something right that he’d felt as he shook Phil’s hand. Surprise echoes in the back of his mind and when he concentrates it’s like he can see into Phil’s memory for a moment. Himself standing there, bags under his eyes but smiling, hand outstretched to Phil. When Phil grasps it something tingly shoots up his arm, like a shock of static electricity, but it continues through his whole body, lingering in his fingers.

“In most of the documented cases we have of something like this, the individual’s shields have kept the bond from developing,” the trainer is saying when Carl manages to tune back in.

“However, it seems like yours has followed a fairly normal trajectory despite both of you remaining unaware. That’s why you experienced what you did when you took down the shields. As I’m sure you’re aware, a bond develops over time. Had your shields not been so developed, the initial moment of connection would have been much milder. The fact that your bond had been developing unbeknownst to the two of you meant that when you did tap into it, it was already much stronger. Usually it’s fairly gradual and doesn’t disturb the lives of the bonded too much, however you two seem to have been thrown into the deep end.”

She offers a sympathetic smile at that and Carl actually does feel a bit better. He’d genuinely been expecting someone to tell them that everything was fucked up, that somehow Carl had done something terrible, that surely it wasn’t supposed to feel like that. His bond with Mats and Derick had never come anywhere close to that level of intensity, almost never even more than something he could just push to the back of his conscious. He’d objectively known soulbonds were different, but he’d never imagined it like this.

He drags in a breath and tries to focus on what the trainer’s saying. The bond has receded some since they were in Sullivan’s office, but waves of emotion, thought, sensation, keep washing over him. It’s better if he tries to concentrate on something else. If he starts focusing on the bond he can feel himself getting sucked in, pulled under.

“We’re going to do a few very mild tests just to make sure everything seems balanced,” the trainer is saying when he tunes back in. “And then we’ll go over what you two should be doing for the next few days.”

They end up being told that everything is looking fine, just far more developed than anyone would have expected.

“You might feel slightly distanced from the bond at this point,” she says. “It should start to feel more like part of yourself soon, rather than something intruding. A bond should only take a couple days to settle, but it usually happens at a much earlier, less noticeable stage. Physical touch and proximity help the most in a bond settling, so we’d recommend that you stay together for the next couple days. You’re probably fine sleeping in different rooms, but if you feel comfortable with it, the closer the better.”

Carl feels his stomach go hot at that, and he’s helpless to keep from thinking back to the times they’ve already shared a bed. Except now, he realizes, he’s probably also sharing that with Phil. He can feel something like amusement at the back of the bond.

“What let it keep developing without us knowing?” Phil asks.

“Well,” she says, “like I said, proximity has a lot to do with it. The fact that you two have been playing on a line together since Carl got here probably contributed quite a bit, along with any other time you two spend together off the ice, either alone or with the team.”

“But it does also have an emotional aspect,” she continues. “The fact that the two of you felt like you were connecting enough to suggest a linebond means that was probably contributing as well. In addition to physically being together over the next few days, it would be good if you two strived to keep the bond as open as possible. I know it’ll probably be instinct to put shields up, especially for you Carl, because it’s what you’ve become used to, but putting those up now that you’ve realized the bond, especially shields as developed as yours, could unbalance the bond.”

They both nod in agreement and Carl thinks that he couldn’t put shields up against the bond now even if he tried.

“We’ll check in over the next few days and once the bond has settled further we can talk about how to construct shields that will help you both maintain some privacy without harming the bond.”  

“Is this going to affect us on the ice?” Carl asks softly, looking down at where his clasped hands rest between his thighs.

There’s a slight pause but then the trainer’s saying, “It shouldn’t. There might be some disorientation on the ice at first, especially with a new bond like yours, but in the long run, no.”

Carl lets out a breathe he didn’t even know he was holding, hears Phil do the same next to him, and feels a bit of the knot in his stomach unwind.

Bones is waiting for them in the hallway when they leave the trainer.

“Hey!” he says, a little loud for Carl at the moment, echoing in the empty space. “How did it go? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” says Phil, quieter. “Or at least. I think it’s gonna be okay.”

“Turns out we already have a bond.” Carl presses his fingers to his temple, head still feeling weird, like his mind is too big for the space afforded it.

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” says Bones mildly.

“I’m really sorry dude,” Phil says. “I don’t think we can continue with the linebond right now. They said that our bond’s pretty developed but, like it hasn’t settled yet or whatever. I think it might take some time.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Bonino says, “I get it. Don’t feel bad, I definitely don’t feel excluded from anything I want to be a part of.” Bones laughs a little at that and Phil flushes.

“Yeah,” says Phil, scrubbing at the back of his neck, “I just don’t want you to think we aren’t committed to this line, or like, that we’re only looking out for each other.”

“You’re probably right,” says Bones, sensibly. “And that’s fine. I’m honestly really happy for the two of you. I wouldn't have guessed though.”

“Neither would we,” Carl says, “that’s the whole problem I guess.”

There’s a hint of guilt in the bond now though, sitting low in Carl’s stomach, acrid. Carl can’t figure out which one of them it’s coming from. He looks over at Phil for a moment, trying to figure it out.

“See!” says Bones, gesturing between them, “I don’t want to be in the middle of this. You guys are sickening.” He’s smiling though and it’s Carl’s turn to flush a little.

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” says Phil, rolling his eyes a bit, “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t think we’d just bailed.

“No, I get it,” says Bones. “Soulbonds can be unpredictable. They don’t always happen when it’s convenient, I know mine didn’t. I’m really happy for you two. I think it’s gonna be a really good thing, and if you still wanna talk about linebonds at some point, we can.”

A thin current of want makes its way through the bond as Bonino says that, and Carl looks up, a bit startled. Phil’s regarding Bones seriously as though he didn’t say anything out of the ordinary though. They fill Bones in on the trainers plan for them for the next couple days, promising to keep him updated.

“Hey,” says Carl as they head out of the arena. “Would you still want to make a line bond with Bones?”

“I don’t know,” Phil says slowly and pauses in their trajectory. “I mean. Okay I know it sounds crazy when we just figured out that we’re bonded, but maybe? Eventually? I don’t know, I just always wanted one, and yeah I know they don’t always accomplish much, but it always just seemed so cool. Having someone you’re in sync with out there,” he trails off, shifting his stance a bit.  

“Okay,” says Carl, after a second. He hadn’t ever considered the idea of having multiple bonds himself. It’s common of course, that players with linebonds also have non-hockey soulbonds, but if there are other soulbonded hockey players it’s been kept pretty quiet. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He smiles at Phil though and there’s a flash of an image in his mind, the two of them back out on the ice together, but something else between them, something more, and Carl suddenly can’t wait.

 

//

 

By some unspoken decision they end up at Phil’s house again, one of the car companies the Penguins charter taking them there silently. They’re on opposite sides of the backseat, instincts guiding them to take the standard, socially acceptable positions.

Carl regrets this a bit now, wishing he was next to Phil. Carl’s hand is tucked into Phil’s hand, both of them stretched into the middle seat, but Phil’s not looking at him. Instead his head rests against the glass. Carl watches him, his profile rhymically lit up by the streetlights as they pass through the sprawling suburbs.

The bond feels much more settled now, like he’s standing in the shallows, waves lapping at his feet. He can tell that there’s a huge expanse beyond the edge he’s experiencing, receding into an area of his mind he didn’t think even exists, and maybe it’s not his mind. Maybe it’s Phil’s, or maybe it’s something entirely new, created by the bond and shared between them.

It’s still strange, still feels foreign, but it’s sort of nice. The waves are predictable and almost soothing. It’s quiet and calm in the car and Carl feels separated from everything but the bond and where Phil’s still holding his hand.

Phil’s drifted off by the time they reach his house, which maybe explains some of the quiet of the bond. Carl, curious, tries to nudge at the bond instead of just shaking Phil’s shoulder. Phil’s eyes fly open and he looks over at Carl, startled.

“Sorry,” says Carl quickly, “I didn’t mean to-” he breaks off when he realizes he doesn’t really know what he meant to do or not.

“No it’s fine,” says Phil, “Just… unexpected.” He goes to open the door and in doing so pulls his hand out of Carl’s grasp.

The loss of physical contact isn’t as abrupt this time, but as he follows Phil up to the front door he can feel the pressure building, pushing him closer to Phil. Phil reaches back to grab Carl’s hand again as he unlocks the door and once they’re in the foyer pulls him in tight. They stand there for an indeterminable amount of time, Carl’s arms wrapped around Phil’s neck, their breath the only noise in the quiet house.

Carl can tell that they’re both focused on the bond as it swells and abates. It’s contents are abstract, no memories or words, just feeling, some kind of tug towards togetherness. It shudders a little, Carl can feel the reverberations echo through his head, not unpleasant but certainly unusual.

Carl’s aware enough of the rest of his body though to notice that he’s hungry, neither of them having eaten since before practice. _Food?_ , he thinks, trying to form it as a clear thought in his mind.

He can feel a bit of confusion around the edges of the bond and then he feels Phil get it and, he says _“Yes,”_ clearly and emphatically in Carl’s head.

 _Maybe we’re gonna be okay at this,_ Carl thinks and Phil smiles at him, wide and open.

They end up eating leftover pasta at Phil’s counter, ankles hooked around each other, before making their way upstairs. Phil tosses him an extra t-shirt and boxers and they get ready quickly. As they move around the bedroom Carl can feel the bond forming itself into an impression of the space between them. It shifts as Phil steps around Carl to get to the sink and Carl can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“What?” asks Phil, but Carl can tell he’s already amused, Carl’s excitement bubbling over.

“That’s gonna be so fucking cool on the ice,” he says and he can feel Phil get it, the bond suddenly expanding as Phil’s mind lights up with possibilities.

“I wonder if we could feel people in between us?”

“I think, maybe?” says Carl slowly, “This is already way more than I ever had-”

He can’t help the wash of sadness that still accompanies thinking about their broken bond, and it makes him want to slam his shields up again, not necessarily against Phil but against the phantom presence of that missing link. He doesn’t though. Instead he clenches his jaw and thinks about what the trainer had said earlier, that putting up shields right now could damage their bond.

Even though it’s new and entirely unexpected, that’s the last thing Carl wants. Phil’s become the most solid thing in his life over the last few months. A constant, reassuring presence. As bound up with hockey as his friendship with Phil is, Carl couldn’t help wanting to pull on the ends of those threads to see if it could unravel into something more.

He didn’t think he was going to get that chance, wasn’t going to let himself act on any chance that might have been given, but here he is with it thrust into his lap.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Phil asks tentatively.

“No,” says Carl automatically, “at least, not right now.” He turns back to face the sink, but then realizes that actually, yes, he does want to tell Phil, he wants Phil to know.

Phil’s already turned to look at him when he glances back up, and Carl realizes Phil could probably feel him change his mind.

“It didn’t hurt or anything,” he starts, “breaking the bond. It just felt like there was something that was supposed to the be there that wasn’t. Kinda like if you showed up to practice and there wasn’t a stall for you. And then I just couldn’t stop trying to figure out where it was supposed to be, so I put the shields up.”

He can tell that Phil’s trying to make himself calm, to not react to what Carl’s saying. He’s concentrating on it so firmly that it’s being pushed to Carl as well. It smells a little like chamomile and lavender.

“It also just sucked because it felt like I lost them too, not just the bond,” he says, looking down at his hands gripping the counter. “And like, I guess I did because we weren’t playing together, but, I don’t know. It was just worse. And I didn’t want to have to think about it.”

“If it was so bad, then why did you agree to try another one with us?” and even though Phil doesn’t say it, Carl can hear the question anyway.

“We were doing so well,” says Carl. “Like really well, way better than it ever was in New York and I thought maybe we could be even better. This is the best I’ve ever played and I just wanted us to be good. Good for the team, and maybe if we were good, like really good...” Carl trails off and fills the rest in mentally, too hard to say out loud, _then maybe I wouldn’t have to leave this time._

Phil reaches over to wrap his hand around Carl’s wrist, thumb pushing into his pressure point. The contact shudders through him, lighting up the edges of the bond.

“We’re going to be great,” says Phil, with so much conviction, and Carl wishes he could believe that way. “And,” Phil says, glancing away for a second before making eye contact with Carl, “you can’t lose me. I don’t want to leave either, I want to stay here. Together. We’re always going to be together.”

And while Carl had obviously known that this was a soulbond, something nearly impossible to break, unlike working bonds, he hadn’t really thought about that. That Phil wasn’t just going to be here next to him for now, but that he was going to be here forever.

Carl can feel the bond react to this, like a plug was unstoppered somewhere, like some climax it had been pushing them towards had been met, and the pressure recedes a little.

 

//

 

Carl wakes up the next morning to sunlight filtering in through the windows, his body heavy in the way he associates with sleeping for a long time. The bond is still at the forefront of his mind. It feels thicker than last night somehow, slower, more viscous.

He can feel Phil pressed up behind him, an odd reenactment of that morning in the hotel. Carl smiles a little this time though, instead of freaking out. He can feel Phil’s desire in the bond, low and dark, and a little sweet like maple syrup. Carl sighs softly and shifts back against Phil, taking a moment to the quiet undercurrent between them. He tries to open up, to let his own want into the bond.

Phil shifts slightly behind him, mumbles something into his hair and Carl becomes aware that Phil is at the very least waking up, if not already awake. Phil tilts his head down to nose along the shell of Carl’s ear, tongue dragging lightly along his neck. Carl can’t stop the gasp that escapes him, and he goes ahead and grinds down, hard. He already knew Phil was hard, but feeling it pressed up against his ass, feeling the little zing that goes through the bond, is something else entirely. 

He can feel Phil gasp against the base of his neck, and then he’s being pulled backwards. Phil ends up on his back and Carl has to fling out an arm so he can leverage himself over so he's straddling Phil. He takes a moment to look down at Phil, his hair messy and sticking up at awkward angles. Carl’s pretty sure that he’s not looking much more put together himself. Phil’s smiling up at him, a little shy and a contradiction to the hot want in the back of Carl’s mind, and Carl can’t help but kiss him.

The first press of their mouths together isn’t fireworks, or even a crashing wave, but there’s this developing sense of rightness that washes over Carl. This is right, right where he’s supposed to be, right where he always wanted to go, even if he didn’t know it.  

It’s messy, hot and wet, both of them still a little trapped between dreams and wakefulness. Carl bites down on Phil’s bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth, and he can feel Phil gasp in response, his mouth parting even further. Phil pushes up, Carl’s thighs clamping down around Phil's hips as he grinds down. He presses his forehead to Phil's and they’re not so much kissing as panting into each others mouths.

Phil’s hands have settled low on Carl’s hips, fingertips tucked into the waistband of his boxers, thumbs pressing hard into his hipbones and reaching back to grab at the edges of Carl’s ass. Carl’s managed to shove Phil’s t-shirt part way up, thumb flicking over his nipple as he bites softly at Phil’s mouth.

Carl tries to push it off entirely and Phil sits up slightly on one elbow, shifting Carl up with him. Phil manages to only get a little stuck as they wrestle his t-shirt off before lying back down, hands wandering up under Carl’s shirt, thumbs gliding along his ribcage. Neither of them are playoffs skinny, but Carl knows he’s a little leaner, collarbones a little sharper. He can feel it on Phil too, areas of his torso harder than they would have been a few months ago, and Carl wants to be able to do this every day, to catalogue every little change.

Phil’s gotten Carl’s shirt up to his armpits when he pauses for a second.

“I,” says Phil hesitating, “uh is this okay?”  

Carl can’t help but huff a small laugh, “Yeah,” he says, “this is way more than okay.” _It’s perfect,_ he thinks and there’s a fuzzy glow in his mind, pleasure hovering around all of his thoughts.

He reaches up to finish pulling off his shirt, flinging it off somewhere across the room. His hips shift forward as he arches up and shit that’s even better. Where they were pressed together before, Carl’s shifted so that Phil’s dick is pressed up between his ass.

It’s been awhile since Carl last got off with a guy, and he’d forgotten how good this can feel, surprises himself a bit with how much he wants this. He slides his knees a bit wider, allowing his body weight to press him harder against Phil. He reaches back with one hand to brace himself, working his hips back and forth against Phil.

He closes his eyes and the bond rushes through his mind, hot and heavy, a feedback loop of desire. He can tell how much Phil likes it, how good Phil thinks he looks and he gasps.

He uses his other hand to trace along the outline of his dick, playing with the head a little, hard inside his boxers. He’s aware that he’s basically giving a glorified lap dance at this point, but he’s riding the high of Phil’s awe, wants to make it good for him.

“ _I can’t believe I get to have this,”_ he hears Phil think, much more quietly, almost a whisper in the back of his mind, and Carl’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear that. Carl’s eyes fly open and he leans down to kiss Phil again.

 _I can’t believe I get to have this either,_ Carl thinks back, a little giddy. Phil’s hands are on Carl’s back then and he’s suddenly being rolled over, Phil pressing him back into the mattress. He shoves Carl’s boxers down his thighs.

Carl can't help the noise he makes at the first slide of his dick against the soft skin of Phil’s stomach, trying to shift up to get more friction. Phil’s mouthing along Carl’s jaw and Carl’s trying to shove down Phil’s underwear. He gets them down under Phil’s ass, but the waistband catches on the head of his dick, pulling obscenely at the fabric. Carl huffs a tiny laugh and Phil reaches down too to get them all the way off, their hands tangling in their rush.

Carl reaches up with his foot to finish pushing them down Phil’s thighs and then shifts it higher. Their dicks are aligned then, sliding against each other, hot and slightly sticky between their bodies.

“Fuck, Carl,” gasps Phil as Carl gets his leg up over Phil’s ass, pulling him down to grind together.

“Do you wanna,” Carl manages to say out loud, and then it’s Phil’s turn to try a laugh.

“I really don’t think I’m going to last that long.”

He looks up at Phil, the morning sun catching in his hair, and feels a huge sudden rush of affection towards him. Not the same as the lust that’s been overwhelming their bond, something lighter and more pure. He reaches up to brush his fingers along Phil’s jaw, up through his hair.

 _Beautiful_ , he thinks, feels himself form the word within the bond.

Phil blushes and the bond goes a little pink too, leaning down to bury his face in Carl’s neck.

“ _You should see yourself,”_ Phil thinks back, a little teasing.

Carl laughs a little, but then Phil reaches down to get a hand around Carl’s dick and all amusement evaporates from the bond. Phil bites at his neck a little, and Carl plants his foot on the bed, trying to shift up further into Phil’s grip.

“Can I-” starts Phil, but then he breaks off, filling in the rest with thought, as if he’s embarrassed to ask out loud.

“Yeah,” pants Carl, “Yes. Definitely.”

Phil pulls back far enough to allow Carl to roll over onto his stomach. The friction of the sheets against his dick feels entirely different from Phil’s hand and he tries to shift up against it. Before he can achieve much, Phil’s settling back over him, his thighs big and muscular. He hears Phil spit into his hand and then a moment later he’s sliding his dick between Carl’s thighs.

Carl hasn't tried this much, didn't think it would do much for him. He can instantly feel what it feels like for Phil through the bond though and he moans a bit, trying to shove back, trying to make it even better for Phil. They probably could have used some lube but it’s just slick enough with sweat and spit and precome that Carl can’t be bothered to try and figure something out.

Every nerve in Carl’s body feels like it’s alight, the bond surging through his mind, and Carl feels breathless with how good every shift feels. Phil’s panting above him, his weight pushing Carl down into the mattress. Carl pushes up into it, tries to grind back down to get some more friction against his dick and the soft sheets. There's a rhythm to it now, Carl rocking back, and he doesn’t know how much longer he's going to last. The next time Phil thrusts down his dick catches slightly on Carl’s hole and a spark goes through the bond. They both groan and Carl tries to shift his hips up, to get Phil to do that again.

He wants Phil in him but it’s already almost too much. He knows he must think it though because Phil is shifting up slightly, pulling Carl’s hips up with him. His dick rubs more purposefully down across Carl’s hole, nudging up against his balls.

Carl buries his head in a pillow, hand fisting in the sheets. He doesn’t even know what noise to make, just pants wetly and gets a knee underneath him, tries to rub back against Phil. It only takes a few more passes before Phil’s coming. Carl feels it run down the crack of his ass, and Carl rubs back again, still wanting more.

Phil's still pressed up behind him, leaning over, his chest hot against Carl’s back. One of his thighs is still between Carl’s knees and he reaches around to get his hand back on Carl’s dick. It’s good, it’s so good, but Carl doesn’t feel like he remembers how to come, every sensation blurring together into a haze of pleasure. Phil runs his fingers almost teasingly up Carls dick and Carl squirms back against him, trying to somehow get more. 

Phil mouth is hot at his shoulder, his nose nudging up against Carl’s ear. “ _Mine,”_ he hears Phil think as he mouths at the muscle there. “Yeah,” gasps Carl, thinks back, _mine._

Phil sits up, his arm reaching around Carl’s chest to pull them up together until Carl’s sitting in his lap, his back still pressed against Phil’s chest. Carl's legs are spread across Phil's thighs and he feels filthy, his dick hard and slick and on display. 

Phil’s thumb and forefinger are still circling his dick and Phil speeds it up a little now, swiping across the slit on every up stroke. He reaches down with his other hand to play with Carl’s balls gently before moving back to run his finger through the cum that’s still coating Carl’s ass.

Phil rubs across it a few times, before circling, thumb not quite pressing in. Phil brings his hand up to his own mouth, spitting again, and maybe it should be gross, but Carl just wants more, however he's gonna get it. Phil reaches back down, circling again before finally pushing a finger in, slowly. 

“Fuck,” gasps Carl, “Phil,” his head tipping back against Phil’s shoulder as he arches up into Phil’s grip and then tries to grind down against his fingers. Phil tightens his grip obligingly and then Carl’s coming all over Phil’s hand.

They’re still lying there a while later, Carl lazily tracing patterns along Phil’s spine, when Phil turns to look at him, nudging Carl a little with his knee.

“You know,” says Phil, and it sounds like he’s being casual but Carl can tell he’s only trying to be, “I thought I could feel it a couple times. The bond. Like when you got that first goal, it seemed like I could feel how happy you were, not just see it.”

“What?” asks Carl, horrified, and he’s sure he’s echoing it even louder in their heads.

“I know, I know,” says Phil, hurriedly. “Or at least, I know now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno, I guess I just thought, if there was anything there, that you didn’t want it, or maybe it was one sided or something.” Phil rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I did want it,” says Carl, leaning across Phil to look him in the eye. “I wanted you. I just didn’t know I would get to. I didn’t want to fuck anything up.”

Phil tilts his head up to kiss Carl again, softer than anything previously, mostly just a press of lips against each other.

Carl drifts off that night head pillowed on Phil’s chest, the bond a soft glow around his mind. It’s almost like someone forgot to turn off a lamp before going to bed, but in a nice way, comforting like someone’s still up, looking out for him.

They’re sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast the next morning when Phil says, “Sid talked to me, you know. Like a month or so after you were traded. He told me to be careful, to be careful with you. I thought he’d just guessed that I was into you. That I wasn’t being as subtle as I thought, but I think he actually guessed about the bond somehow. I know it sounds crazy, but I dunno. It was a weird conversation.”

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” says Carl. “I mean,” he pauses to push his cereal around in it’s bowl a bit, “he’s gotta know a lot about bonds. What with him and Geno and everything.”

“You think -” Phil sounds startled.

“That it was with Sid? I mean, it makes sense doesn’t it? Don’t you remember everyone talking about them after they won the cup? I mean, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m going to ask or anything.”

He can feel both of them turning this over in their minds. Carl probably could ask, Sid would tell him the truth, but Carl’s not sure he actually wants to know.

“Do you think they’re still bonded then?” Phil asks and Carl just shrugs.

“I dunno. It sounded like they tried to break it, so maybe they eventually did? It’s hard to tell. I don’t think it was like ours in the first place anyway though.”

They sit there in silence for a little while, finishing their meal. There’s a hint of sadness in the bond now though. It’s been less than 24 hours and Carl can’t imagine even trying to break his bond with Phil. It’s not just that it feels huge and untouchable, but it feels right too. Not so much like he found a missing piece, but like he discovered a door to a different world that had always been right in front of him, horizons extending beyond where he even thought they lay.

He didn’t want to break his bond with Mats and Derick either, had wanted to stay there with them, but he didn’t get to make that decision.

He doesn’t try and prod at the bond to figure out what Phil’s thinking, it still feels too volatile to try anything purposefully, but he doesn’t think the melancholy that’s hovering over them is one sided.

 

//

 

It takes a few days for the bond to find its equilibrium. It’s frustrating at first, sudden sparks of emotion becoming overwhelming, leaving them clutching at each other. They check in daily with the trainers who seem to think they’re making good progress, and who give them some exercises to try at home. The first time Phil tries to consciously push something towards Carl through the bond though, Carl’s vision whites out for a moment and when it comes back, they’re both sitting on the floor.

They miss the next game, an away one that they wouldn’t have been ready to travel for, even if they had gotten any time on the ice as a bonded pair. They watch from Phil’s couch as the Pens barely beat the Rangers in OT, both of them on the edge of their seats as Sid and then Tanger skate onto the ice for a shootout.

Despite checking in with the trainers daily, they haven’t gotten any time on the ice with the bond. It’s still too volatile they say, don’t want to push it before it’s ready.

And then, a few days after they found out about the bond, Carl wakes up with a clear head. At first he can’t figure out what feels different but then he realizes he doesn’t instantly know where Phil is. The other side of the bed is empty, if not cold, and the bond isn’t pressing into the forefront of Carl’s mind, insisting on him knowing Phil’s every emotion right away.

He reaches out for it, and finds the edge of the bond, right at the periphery.

 _Good morning,_ he thinks into it. Downstairs Phil startles, spilling some coffee onto the counter.

 _“Hey!_ ” he hears Phil say, “ _Good morning! I didn’t even know you were awake!”_ and Carl can tell he’s laughing at himself.

_I know! I think we did it. I think it’s settled._

Now that he’s concentrated on the bond Carl can feel Phil’s thrill at that thought. The bond grows warmer, as if it’s happy with the two of them.

He pulls away and it settles back around the edges of his mind. He’s still aware of it, but it’s at a much more familiar level, not pressing at his thoughts. He’s sure there’s still a vastness to it that he could get pulled into, but for now it just feels comfortable, cozy, tucked around him like the duvet he’s still under.

It’s a little disorienting when they first step back on the ice later that afternoon. There’s a thrum of anxiety running like a current at the bottom of the bond, and for all that Carl tries to reassure himself that it will be fine now that the bond’s settled, it’s still there.

It’s strange stepping onto the ice with the awareness of another person in the back of his head again. If he doesn’t concentrate on it, it doesn’t feel that different from his linebond with Mats and Derick. He can sort of tell where Phil is, but can also sort of feel his emotions. He skates a few laps like that, trying to recalibrate himself. He can feel Phil start to nudge him a little through the bond, excitedly wanting to try more.

Without looking over at where Phil is, he opens the bond up a little wider, and Carl’s perception of the space of the rink shifts, focusing on the distance between Phil and himself. Phil mentally grins at him, starting to skate some lazy figure eights before trying a spin. Carl laughs out loud and turns to face Phil again.

“I could feel you do that!” he yells across the ice.

“I know!” Phil yells back, his face wide open and his eyes shining. “It’s fucking awesome!”

They’re still on the ice when the rest of their teammates start trickling in for practice. Olli and Pouliot are stretching on one end of the ice and on the other Sid and Geno are stickhandling back and forth. There are multiple pucks between them, but they’re working them back and forth, dropping it off for the other person who picks it up effortlessly, never missing a beat.

There is something about the way they share space that’s different from how they are with the rest of the room.It’s apparent off and on the ice, how effortless their passes are to each other, power play goals coming without even having to look. It’s understated enough that it could be chalked up to their ten years of playing together, but Carl’s pretty sure it could be something else as well.

Carl almost wants to ask for tips on how to utilize a bond on the ice but he remembers Sid’s face in the hallway and doesn’t think that would be a good idea.

It takes a bit more time before Phil and Carl fully figure out how to use the bond while playing. They’re back for the home game against Nashville a few days later and for most of it Carl nervously tries to keep the bond towards the back of his mind.

Then, late in the third they’re on the ice together and Bonino wins the faceoff cleanly back to Fehr, who holds for a second before snapping it towards the net where Carl is. Carl knows he’s not in the right position to deflect it in cleanly and instinctively opens his mind to try and find where his linemates are. He can tell that Phil’s not quite in the right position, but he can also tell that Phil’s watching where Bones is, that Bones is in the right place and Carl shovels it towards him and then it’s in the back of the net.

Bones and Phil already have their arms around each other by the boards when Carl crashes into them.

 _Okay,_ he thinks towards Phil, _okay, let’s try that again._

He can feel Phil’s answering excitement as they skate back towards the bench and Carl just wants to stay on the ice with him trying to figure out how they fit together.

They end up losing their last regular season game against the Flyers, breaking their winning streak, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve already clinched their playoff position and there’s a readiness in the room to just keep going.

For all that he plays a winter sport, Carl’s always loved spring, the hint of warmth to the wind, the blooming trees that line the streets. By this late in the season it feels like they’re racing against time, playing faster and faster before their ice thaws.

 

//

 

They spend the lead up to the Rangers series working with the team’s linebonds specialists, trying to figure out how to effectively use their bond on the ice, and how to not let it overwhelm either of them. While soulbonds are fundamentally different than working bonds, they find that Phil and Carl can use their bond in many of the same ways if they work on a balance of shielding and control.

It takes some practice though. Despite the bond having settled, it’s easy to push it too far when they’re focused on their instincts on the ice. The first time Phil calls out for the puck across the bond it overwhelms everything else and Carl’s left helplessly twisting around, trying to find him instead of just making a play.

Nothing ever clicks into place so to speak, but develops gradually, until a week or so later Carl can hardly remember it not being second nature to know where Phil is, to be able to read his intentions with the puck without even meaning to.

Their line seems as strong as ever, Bones still fitting effortlessly in between them despite never initiating a linebond. It’s surprising. Even the bond specialists were convinced their dynamic would be thrown off balance, but after a couple tries they hit their stride again. Phil and Carl are certainly more in tune to where Bones is now, but he’s holding his own, reading them just as well as ever

“That was easier than I expected,” Bones says to them, grinning, after practice one day.

The bonds felt giddy all day, both of them excited as things on the ice have gotten easier, but there’s something almost like pride underlying the bond when Bones says that. Carl drags Phil and Bone into a hug by the boards, spinning them around.

“Hey!” shouts Horny, “We get it! You guys are great! Save it for the game, eh?”

“We’ve got plenty to go around,” Carl shouts back, “Don’t even worry!”

They end up blowing past the Rangers in five games. If anyone on the team had counted that as a real possibility, they hadn’t said it out loud. The veterans were only too aware of how past series had gone against the other team, and the rookies knew better than to vocalize anything jinx-worthy in the locker room.

It’s still weird for Carl to step on the ice against Mats and Derick, had been weird all season. Their line is on the ice at the same time as Derick at one point and when Carl goes to open up the bond, he expects to find Derick there, but then it’s Phil, and Phil’s waiting for his pass and Carl is jolted back into reality.

There’s celebration in the locker room after they win game 5, but it’s not anything beyond their usual. Everyone knows the Capitals are going to be a whole different ballgame, and if no one talked about beating the Rangers, well no one’s saying anything out loud about losing to the Caps either. Sid looks a little more relieved though as he sprawls in his stall, surveying the rest of his team. Geno and Tanger just look determined.

They’re halfway through game 4 against the Caps when Carl nudges Phil as they sit on the bench watching Sid getting ready to line up against Ovechkin.

“Hey,” he says, nodding his head towards where Ovechkin is talking to Backstrom. “Do you think -” he breaks off and fills in the rest mentally.

“That they’re more like us?” Phil says out loud.

Carl shrugs and shoves some mental replays towards Phil. They sit there quietly for a moment as the puck is dropped, watching as Ovechkin wins it back. It’s not until the whistle is blown next that Phil says softly, “Maybe,” and there’s something almost wondrous hovering at the edge of the bond. “I didn’t think there were any.”

“There’s gotta be though,” says Carl. “Mats said he knew a couple once. I kinda forgot but I definitely don’t think we’re the first.”

Carl can’t stop turning the thought over and over in his head, thinking about pairs the media fixates on, players who shouldn’t be able to do what they’re able to do sometimes. Players who maybe spend a bit too much time together, who have followed each other to different teams and even different leagues. _I’d do that for Phil,_ he thinks, and it surprises him how much he means it.

Phil looks over at him abruptly. “ _Really?”_ Carl hears.

 _Yes,_ he sends back, suddenly determined. _It’s you and me together now, right? Guess you’re just stuck with me._

Phil grins at him, “ _Guess so,”_ and bumps his fist as they get ready to go over the boards for their next shift. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Call](http://jamesbonds.tumblr.com) me, [beep](http://twitter.com/jamessbonds) me.


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